Apearance

The elderly -- nearly ancient -- Elothean hunches over a rusted iron shovel, wheezing heavily, beads of sweat rolling off his brow. His pale white hair sticks against his scalp, which looks leathery with its dark tan. Though his head glistens with perspiration and his breath is labored, his hands seem sure and steady as they grip the haft of his shovel, upon which he rests the majority of his meager weight, leaving his right leg at rest. A red bandana stained by soil and sweat hangs from the waistband of his light cotton trousers, apparently having been used liberally to clean his brow after spending long anlaen digging new plots. His piercing blue eyes meet yours with a look of determination. All at once, Aalar doesn't seem quite so decrepit and doddering.

Conversations

AALAR: Aalar cocks his head to the side as you speak to him. After giving the subject a good deal more thought than seems necessary, he replies, "I watch over the plots, and dig new ones when someone dies. Course with all the crows and graverobbers there's more plots to be dug all the time!"

Aalar glances over his shoulder and adds, "And yeah, I keep the mausoleum in good order as well."

CLEWORTH: Aalar leans on his rusted iron shovel and nods. "A good Human," he says, "and an even better Paladin."

CROWS: "Bloody menaces!" snaps Aalar tersely. "Can't dig one plot without having to swat away a few dozen crows." He hefts his shovel for a moment, and you notice that the grime caked to the blade doesn't seem to be just dirt.

DINEGO: Aalar says, "You know there was a time I thought I'd seen the last of those. But then I come out here and..." He trails off as he gestures at the expanse of the Necropolis.

GRAVEROBBERS: Aalar grunts and shuffles his feet. "Worst sin I can imagine, stealing the belongings of the dead," he says with a glower. "I'd march right out and strike down e'ery last one of those no good, honorless..." He trails off, gazing solemnly at his rusty iron shovel.

INSIGHTNon-Paladin: Aalar raises an eyebrow at you. "My eyes are just fine," he says, looking a little confused by his own answer.

MAUSOLEUM: Aalar glances over his shoulder at the mausoleum. He nods sagely. "Aye," he begins. "It's stood there as long as the Necropolis itself." Scowling, he quietly adds, "Shame the lower levels' been overrun with restless spirits."

NECROPOLIS: Aalar gazes off to the northeast, lower lip pushed upward as if he were trying to dislodge some bit of food from between his front teeth. "They built it to honor the dead, but... well, you know. Some dead just can't let things be."

SHOVEL: Aalar tightens his grip on a rusted iron shovel and barks, "Ain't for sale!"

UNDEAD: Aalar shifts his weight and says, "You know some say the restless dead are such because something's keeping them here. Might be some can't move on because their graves been ransacked by robbers." He nods thoughtfully and gazes into the distance.